


The Hollerith Hackathon and Expo

by wizardofahz



Category: Person of Interest (TV)
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-30
Updated: 2015-04-30
Packaged: 2018-03-26 11:11:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,522
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3848776
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wizardofahz/pseuds/wizardofahz
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Root," Shaw said, voice low and threatening, as they entered a convention center that had a huge banner in front of it saying, WELCOME TO THE 14TH ANNUAL HOLLERITH HACKATHON AND EXPO. "I thought you said there would be weapons."</p>
<p>The hacker smiled at her brightly. "In the current day and age, these..." Root gestured broadly across the exhibition hall, trailing off as one particular computer on display caught her eye. "... are all potential weapons. Especially that one. Let's go."</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Hollerith Hackathon and Expo

**Author's Note:**

> The show is very angsty right now, so this is a little stress-free fic set in early season 4. Enjoy!

Sameen Shaw hated her life. She took in her surroundings for what felt like the 100th time that day and vowed to kill Root.

"How would you like to spend the weekend with me?" Root had asked.

"Pass."

"There's a potential for you to handle some very fun weapons," Root had followed-up in a sing-sing voice.

Which is how Shaw had ended up at this stupid hackathon/expo thing.

"Root," Shaw had said, voice low and threatening, as they'd entered a convention center that had a huge banner in front of it saying, _WELCOME TO THE 14TH ANNUAL HOLLERITH HACKATHON AND EXPO_. "I thought you said there would be weapons."

The hacker had smiled at her brightly. "In the current day and age, these..." Root gestured broadly across the exhibition hall, trailing off as one particular computer on display caught her eye. "... are all potential weapons. Especially that one. Let's go."

And the next thing she knew, she was being dragged off to look at some giant multi-core processor thing.

At the current moment, Shaw was hanging off to the side as Root engaged an ever-growing crowd in some sort of impromptu nerd discussion that she couldn’t care less about.

Why she hadn't left yet was beyond her.

She could hear Root saying, "That is ridiculously reductive. Given the oversimplification of your model, you lose the subtlety and therefore power of...", and decided she couldn't take it anymore.

She dialed Harold and waited impatiently for him to pick up.

"Hello?"

"Please tell me we have a new number," Shaw ground out through gritted teeth.

"Ah, hello, Ms. Shaw,” Harold greeted her pleasantly, either missing or ignoring the irritation in her voice. “We do not, so you are free to continue enjoying your day off.”

Shoulders sagging in disappointment, Shaw grumbled, “Can we pretend there’s a number? I need to get out of here.”

“Where exactly is ‘here’, Ms. Shaw?”

“Some nerd convention thing that Root dragged me to.”

“The Hollerith Hackathon and Expo?” Harold said quickly, and Shaw rolled her eyes at the envy and excitement in his voice.

“Yeah, that.”

“If only Professor Whistler didn’t have so many papers to grade,” Harold said longingly. Then excitement entered his voice once again. “Ms. Shaw, if you happen to see any microprocessors with -"

Shaw hung up.

"Hey, pretty girl," a voice said over her left shoulder. She turned to see a good-looking man of decent build. He spoke with an attitude as if he’d won the genetic lottery with his good looks and intelligence and knew it. "You lost? Doesn't seem like you're in the right place."

Shaw’s eyes narrowed. She knew sexism ran rampant in these circles but wasn’t sure if that was the idiot’s angle. After all, she clearly had no interest in being here, and no one had said anything of the kind to Root, though perhaps it was because the taller woman was wearing her glasses and seemed to fit in more naturally.

(Which, Shaw now thought to herself, should have been a big tip-off. When did Root ever wear her glasses when she knew there was going to be action involved? Why did it feel like she had blinders on half the time when she was dealing with Root? _Use your head_ , she mentally berated herself.)

"This all must be over your head," the idiot continued smugly. “I can point you toward the kitchen if you want to make me a sandwich."

Her fist clenched.

But before she could do anything, she felt a hand wrap around hers.

"Hey, sweetie."

"Hey, R- Ada," Shaw corrected herself, following Root’s earlier request.

"It's probably best if you don't refer to me as Root," the hacker had said after they’d entered, lest someone recognize her by her previous work. "Call me Ada."

“Sorry about that,” Root simpered in the here and now. “Those amateurs…” The hacker shook her head with exaggerated exasperation. “I know you think they’re below us and not worth our time, but someone had to teach them a lesson. Who’s your new friend?”

Root smiled at the man, and based on his reaction, he was stupid enough to take it at face value. Shaw, on the other hand, knew that that particular smile meant he should fear for his life. Or joints, at least.

The conversation with the man didn’t last very long, Root smoothly belittling him at every turn until he slunk away of his own accord.

“You should’ve let me punch him,” Shaw complained, still itching for some action.

“Not yet,” Root said with a conspiratorial smile.

Suddenly things were looking up. “So there will be action?”

“Did you really think I brought you along just to bore you?” Root gasped with feigned offense. “Think about it: these are the perfect recruiting grounds for Samaritan.”

Root led Shaw through the convention center to a storage room, where she weaved her way through rows of shelves to the back corner.

“For you,” she said, gesturing at an array of weapons, some the latest and best models the black market had to offer, and watching happily as Shaw’s eyes lit up. “Let’s blow this popsicle stand.”

“Really?”

Spinning her way around a table, Root pulled back a tarp, revealing a stash of C4. She grinned. “In a way that Harold most definitely will not approve of.”

At the mention of Harold, Shaw remembered, “I think he wanted something from here.”

“The Machine told me. It’s already taken care of.”

“What about you? Did you want anything?”

“No,” Root said, but Shaw detected a hint of regret. She had caught Root eyeing the computer that first caught her eye many times throughout the day.

(She’d also noticed how in her element Root was. She noticed the way Root seemed to enjoy being in the company of minds more similar to hers on some level. And no, watching Root be the lightest and most at ease that she had been in months - for the first time in a long while not having to pretend to be a baker, journalist, or whatever else her identity of the day required her to be - was not the reason she stayed as long as she did. She most certainly did not stay to watch Root take a turn at one of the booths touting its newest unhackable system, to watch as Root’s lips quirked into barely noticeable smiles as she detected weaknesses in the system but let them go so as not to attract attention. No. That was lame and mundane, and Shaw didn’t do either of those.)

But the computer was huge, and Root probably figured it wasn’t feasible to grab it and complete the mission.

Root quickly laid out the plan. As the convention center was huge, the two would split up to plant C4 in electrical rooms around the building that were using absurdly high amounts of power. The explosion would serve to eliminate the suspicious activity as well as halt Samaritan’s recruitment weekend. Once the charges were set, Root would pull the fire alarm, so everyone would evacuate the premises. Before they split, Root handed Shaw a ski mask and pictures of potential Samaritan agents to look out for as Samaritan was likely to detect their intentions before they’d finished.

They worked swiftly and efficiently. One of the Samaritan agents Shaw took out seemed to be mid-recruitment spiel. She looked at the crouched, whimpering form that was the potential Samaritan recruit and recognized him as the sexist nerd she’d previously encountered.

Grabbing ahold of him, she slammed him against the wall. “I heard you know where the kitchen is. Head over there, make me a sandwich - do not skimp on the mustard - and bring it to the back entrance in twenty minutes. If you don’t, I will track you down and shoot out both your kneecaps. Do you understand?”

One trembling nod later, Shaw shoved him aside and continued on with the mission.

When she arrived at the back entrance to meet up with Root, she stripped the ski mask off and found her sandwich maker sprawled motionless on the ground.

“Hey, sweetie,” Root waved, taser still in hand. She leaned against the SUV that Shaw presumed they would be leaving in. “You’re late.”

Shaw shrugged it off. She’d made a slight detour but didn’t want to make much of it. “That my sandwich?” she asked, nodding at the sandwich sitting on the hood of the car.

Root smiled affectionately at the shorter woman’s priorities. “Yes, Sameen. Shall we?”

With Shaw concentrated on her sandwich, Root got in the driver’s side. Neither batted an eye as the building exploded behind them.

A few days later, when Root had returned to her ephemeral identities and Shaw to her cover job, a tired Root trudged into the subway station to find a surprise waiting for her.

“Ms. Groves,” Harold greeted. “Ms. Shaw left something for you, though how she got it in here I have yet to determine.”

Root turned to look where Harold indicated, and her eyes lit up, weariness now forgotten.

There, sitting beside the bench, was the multi-core processor.


End file.
